Forgotten Stairs

by Hausladen, Blake;

  “General, riders approach,” Geart said. “What are your orders?”

  “Rot you all,” I shouted and struggled to get free of them. They let me through, but as I emerged from the crowd, I was presented with a view that stopped me.

  Back up the road, our men filled the low space between two hills. The next hill over was swirled in dust from the gallop of swift horses. I could not make out the riders, but it could only be Errati and the bailiffs. Behind them were the dry foothills of the Daavum Mountains, and far to the southwest the tall claw of Mount Wedd scratched at the sky. On the far side were the men of the Oreol who Barok meant to make war with.

  Errati had come, and I had let him get in front of us. He was headed straight to Urnedi, and we could not catch his Akal-Tak on the road.

  Rot your eyes, old man.

  I made fists as my anger rose. I didn’t know how many men Furstundish the Senior had brought. I didn’t know much of anything.

  “Did Barok send a letter?” I asked him and torn open the offered case.

  General Mertone,

  We have word of your success. Enhedu rejoices and much has been put in motion by what you have accomplished. Much has happened.

  These things you must know. Heneur has called on Enhedu for aid, and we have pledged it. An attempt was made upon my life by an unknown assailant. Many people were killed. Darmia was one of those who died, dear friend. You may go as you choose, but know that Enhedu wishes you to come home.

  * * *

  Be at peace, General,

  Barok

  I handed Erd the letter. The maps I kept.

  I said to Furstundish the Senior, “The letter is thin on details of our new ally and enemies. What do you know of Heneur’s condition?”

  “Aderan’s army masses below Opti Pass, while the Cynt and Raydau of the Oreol attack her ships and raid across her borders.”

  “So it is war,” Erd said. “The entire Pinnion coast is at war.”

  Furstundish the Senior looked like he was going to cry. I could not stand it.

  “Captain Furstundish, see Geart and Avin aboard ship and escort them to Urnedi. You need to get back before the horde marching on Barok. You seem puzzled. What is your concern?”

  He said, “But Leger, do you not want go back to Enhedu? Darmia …”

  “Have the men of your company report to me here. I’ll lead them across to the Oreol.”

  “Leger, shouldn’t you go back?”

  “No. My men and I are no more in need of a furlough than any other greencoat. I am also likely to be more of a hindrance in Urnedi just now. I was just dismissed as Barok’s alsman, and it would be better for everyone if I am out of reach for a time. You need to beat my replacement back to Urnedi. Go.”

  The old Chaukai stared at me long enough to annoy me before he finally relented, turned, and followed my orders.

  Geart was eager to go and shook my hand. “I envy your return to the mountains. They will tremble at your coming. Farewell, General.”

  “Farewell,” I said and returned the iron handshake before I turned.

  I flipped to the map of the Oreol that matched the view before me. I waved Haton and my sergeant close and handed the map to Erd. “How many are they?” I asked but did not get a quick reply. “I’m marching across to the Oreol, General Oklas. What can you tell me about the way across and the men who claim the land beyond?”

  “A Pormes man hasn’t been across to the Oreol since my father died.”

  “Tough road?”

  “Saddle Pass? No. Not more than three days up and over for you. No one there to bother you, either. It’s poor land on this side of the mountains.”

  “And the Oreol?”

  “The Cynt control the north half of the Oreol and the Raydau the south. The two families have been feuding for decades.”

  “How many men do they command?”

  “12,000 on each side is what I have heard boasted. Seven to eight is likely closer to the truth. The Raydau are more numerous, but they are warring with the Cynt as well as Heneur. Winning, too, if you believe the tales that make it down from the pass.”

  “And the church?”

  His expression hardened a bit. “Your meaning?”

  “Which family does the church support?”

  “One cannot really judge things such as that,” he said and shrugged. It had been an unfair and stupid question. Erd was a man of Bayen—hard to trust him because of it.

  He read my changed mood. His reply was resigned. “You’ll have to kill every priest you find, if that’s what you are wondering. They will never bow to another man’s rule over the Oreol.”

  My skull was humming, keening almost, as I studied the maps.

  “How many men can you spare me?” I asked.

  He liked this question less than I liked his religion. “None,” he said. “You know my situation in Almidi, and now I have thousands more refugees to deal with.”

  “You said you would need land or gold. I need men. Can I buy them from you?”

  “With what? You have neither land nor gold to give. You are not even an alsman anymore.”

  “I can give you 10,000 weights of gold today that you can use to rebuild your roads, harbor, and bridges, and another 30,000 to make, buy, or scrounge as much of what I’d hoped to buy in Alsonvale as you can and deliver it to Enhedu. In exchange, I march west with your two best companies of regulars and as many levies as I can recruit from Almidi.”

  “40,000 weights? Have you lost your rotting mind? Where would you come up with that? Wait a moment. What are you saying?”

  “I am saying that my men and I stole the tithe in Bessradi. I am saying that in exchange for aiding us, I could make it possible for you to begin restoring Trace to the beautiful land your grandfathers told you of.”

  “You choose now to bring me into your confidence?”

  “Demands of the moment,” I replied. “Our lord has sent us to war, and I am deciding for him that it is time for you to be brought in. You preserved us in Almidi. You have what I need to win this war. Decide.”

  My sergeant and Haton looked ready to say something smart, but they got a look into my eyes and wisely kept it buttoned.

  Erd said, “It was you that gutted the church.”

  “It was. And you must know that the Sten and the Chancellor are only two of those we mean to challenge.”

  “You are a real son-of-a-bitch.”

  “Yes I am. Are you with us?”

  “Yes, rot your eyes. Trace and I will stand with Prince Barok in this war. I’ll take your gold.”

  Haton and my sergeant wore the same wide-eyed look of concern that Furstundish the Senior had insulted me with. I said to Haton, “Write up everything I have described before Geart and Avin sail. Barok will also need new pledges for his staff and all the greencoats, restating their commitment to him as Arilas of Enhedu and not a Yentif prince. I’ll need a special one that presses me into military service, and a second that assigns me the rank of commanding general. Back date all of it to mid-winter.”

  To my sergeant, I said, “Get the tin and silver moving down to the ship as well. Those need to get to Enhedu. I am keeping the gold. Get both companies squared away and make ready to take command of the levies I recruit.”

  That woke everyone up. Haton stammered for a moment before managing to say, “Ahh … yes, General. I’ll need to put Barok’s stamp upon all of it, of course. Errati didn’t get ahold of it did he?”

  I pulled it out and tossed it at him.

  He made an urgent request to Erd for scribes, vellum, and such things. I moved the conversation to the town, and a great many works began at once. The two companies of greencoats assembled upon the hill outside of town. Almidi’s garrison began to assemble. Haton sent a satchel full of documents down to the departing ship, and Erd roused his town in support of it all.

  I spent the afternoon recruiting men to our cause. Almidi was crammed with them, all desperate to sign whatever pledge of ser
vice that could be found. East Almidi was a place a man could buy such a pledge. The local bailiff ran the miserable business, as I understood it. But Almidi was filled with thousands more than normal—men who could not afford even this larceny. They had heard that Enhedu was a refuge, but they could not make it any farther.

  The deal I offered was better, though no mother would agree. Any fit man with a large family who was willing to commit the rest of his life into military service would earn himself fifteen pieces of silver per season and his family one hide of land in Enhedu. The wage was nothing compared to the 200 standards a Hemari guardsman earned—little better than a laborer’s wage. But there was no deal anywhere in Zoviyan that would save an entire family from churlishness. I had my pick of the men gathered in Almidi. I allowed them to draw an advance of three standards to get their families over the mountain road to their new homes. The names of these auxiliaries filled fresh sheets, and each family started up the road with provisions and a copy of the pledge made by a father, son, or cousin.

  Almidi buzzed the two days that followed as Erd began to announce the public works he would fund. The feeling that came with great events took hold. Every man in the Kogan Valley had two choices where before they had had none. It got them up off their seats and their stoops.

  I marched west the next morning with 600 greencoats, 600 Tracian regulars, and nearly 1,200 auxiliaries to the cheers of a joyous town.

  I smiled as our pennants cracked in the dry air.

  It was war. And it made me thirsty.

  20

  Minister Sikhek

  The 7th of Spring, 1196

  The city trembled.

  Exaltier Vall Yentif, father of countless princes, stood centermost in the great mob that had surrounded the Tanayon for seven days. He had the same control over the mob he’d enjoyed since the day he first emerged from the Deyalu in 1168 wearing the blood of weaker Yentifs. Gone, though, was his voice, and the beating heart of the savage man. He had been made a wretched thrall, very nearly Hessier, and was just another useless sack of meat.

  There were degrees to such magic, of course. A measure of the amount of mercury and the song used. A single drop and a binding of the Shadow to the blood was sufficient to make any man obey for a short time. Strong-willed men made poor thralls. It required poisonous amounts of mercury and a song that bound the Shadow to the soul as well as the blood. It destroyed the man, and so was pointless. The Ashmari did not care so much about the long-term result.

  I would have the arduous task of replacing him, but that was for another day. He raised his scepter, millions of men and women screamed, and the city’s bones shook.

  Each day of the siege they crowded around the Tanayon at the time prescribed for the evening prayer and screamed for us to emerge and face justice. Each day the crowd grew larger.

  But they did not attack. The Ashmari held them back each time, spending the Shadow’s power to deny them their rage. And with each day, I and they grew weaker. Soon neither they nor I would be able to call upon the Shadow with enough strength to control the vast mob.

  But I was not inside the Tanayon that day. I was in the crowd, searching for the Ashmari. No one noticed me. I was nothing more than another sickly-looking laborer who wanted justice for Bayen.

  I enjoyed the anonymity—

  Enjoyed. Odd.

  I was startled then when the crowd fell silent. I looked up with them at the high balcony upon the dark gray spire where a lone figure stood sheathed in red. He raised his arms and spoke the words I’d prepared for him.

  “Beautiful,” I said, and to my surprise, those around me voiced their agreement. I’d never considered how captivating it was from below. The red shape of the man in the center of the balcony looked like a great eye—the single fiery orb of Bayen himself looking down upon those in his judgment.

  The god I had invented for the men of Zoviya was an awesome god.

  The Sten said, “… and so, please join me now, Bessradi, in a recitation of Bayen’s Creed.”

  I gasped. I needed to have found the Ashmari by now. My plan depended on it.

  I spun, searching faces for something, anything out of place. But I’d run out of time. The city began to sing, and my chance to escape had come and gone.

  We believe in Bayen above, Maker of all things,

  who to cleanse us came, begotten from fire, perfect…

  The woman to my left struck me with her elbow. Those around me were staring. An admonishment? For not joining in, a frail woman struck me? I smiled at her.

  “Sorry dear, I was taken by the sight.”

  And it was true, and so compelled, I joined them.

  …We believe our God, the giver and taker of all life,

  speaks through the laws, prophets, and the holy Sten.

  His good works be done by the one true church,

  and within it the penitent may find rest.

  We believe in the final judgment of the dead,

  the blue flame of heaven, the black ice of hell,

  and look for the rewards of the life ever after.

  It was peaceful—the whole city saying the words with one voice. We finished the first recitation and began the second.

  A nearby argument upset the rhythm of the creed. At the far end of that piece of plaza, six men were being chastised by a large piece of the surrounding crowd for not joining the recitation.

  The Ashmari.

  I woke all at once from the strange effect the crowd had upon me.

  There was time enough yet—just enough.

  I started toward them, yelling at them with the rest. “Sing it, sirs! Bayen decries your silence! Say the words!”

  Around us the great crowd continued on, more than two million strong, their voices shaking the earth.

  From my belt, I pulled free a mason’s mallet and hid the heavy stone tool behind my back.

  I was only steps away from them when I could at last sense the heavy and delicious wash of mercury in their veins.

  They turned.

  “Sikhek,” one of them said with a note very near surprise.

  I looked from one to the next and laughed. “I see most of the Ashod’s elder children, but not the eldest. Did he not have the stomach for this fight?” None of them responded, and I laughed all the louder. “You are enjoying the hospitality of my city, I trust?”

  “He is mad,” one said, and all six of them attacked with song. Their verses were sharp and fast, but nothing at all happened. Neither their Mother nor their dark Father could hear them over the millions.

  I brought up the mallet and struck the first upon the top of his head. It caved in with a crunch. He went down while the others kept singing.

  “They cannot hear you,” I said and caught another upon the ear. His head took the concave shape of the mallet, and gray blood gushed as he fell.

  The rest drew daggers and swords but much too late and with no skill at all for the fight.

  I straight kicked one in the chest, and as he fell, I rushed inside the guard of another. The fourth slashed my arm as I got hold of the Ashmari before me and caved in his skull, too.

  Around us the crowd began to yell, and Hemari converged.

  I laughed and grabbed the fool with the dagger. I brought up my mallet and painted the crowd with blood and bone.

  “The Shadow sees you,” one of the last two said. “You have betrayed Him.”

  I did not rise to his bait. The time for chatting had passed. Bluecoats pushed ever closer through the crowd.

  I stepped in and aside from the slash of one, and straight into the weak dagger thrust of the other. It bit into my chest but skipped off the top of my shoulder. I got hold of him with my off hand and repaid him with three blows upon his neck and ear that exposed his spine and sinuses.

  I felt a sharp bite upon the side of my head and swung around, blind in one eye. The other had managed the courage and luck of a long thrust. The wound did not concern me. It would heal quickly, as would all the
wounds done by such simple weapons.

  I shoved aside the dead weight and started toward the last. He threw a man from the crowd at me, backed away, and pulled a flask from his hip. He drank from it greedily. It was filled with mercury, but it would avail him nothing. The recitation was not finished.

  I smiled as I stalked him. “When you fall, your elder brother will be all alone, and I will have him, too.”

  “He didn’t need to be here for this,” he said and decided to stand his ground.

  And as the last verse was coming to a close, I leapt at him. His sword bit deep into my thigh, and he tried again to sing to Spirits who could not hear him. My mallet popped his head, and the hum of the creed carried over the low noise of the screams around us.

  I looked up with my one good eye at the bluecoats that slowly surrounded me. I had more than enough time.

  I took hold of the savory layer of darkness wafting up from the terrified crowd and corpses of the Ashmari. High above, my Hessier drew the Shadow in toward the Tanayon.

  I sang it over and over, and my Hessier joined me.

  men obey

  men obey

  men obey

  The plural form sucked wildly at the power of the Shadow within my city. The song’s magic reached out across the sea of souls. Each man and woman became a perfect puppet, ready to be told what Lord Bayen wished of them.

  The Sten was given his cue, and he spoke to the crowd. “Rise up, Bessradi! The men of the East offend you. They offend Bayen’s eyes, and for this crime they will face the armies of the righteous. Rise Bessradi. Rise with me and make war upon the apostate!”

  Mouths opened in roaring exaltation, and the city trembled anew.

  We had sucked the Shadow from every man and object, large and small. The greedy song had consumed it all, but the mob was again aimed as I desired. I would exhaust the Kaaryon with war while I rebuilt and restored my power.

  A commotion above drew every eye. A figure fell from the balcony and then three more. The crowd gasped, fell silent, and watched. A metal figure plummeted and then another. I tried to reach out and take control of the men who attacked my Hessier, but there was nothing left of the Shadow. I was powerless until the miseries of Bessradi brought Him anew. In a surge, the rest of my Hessier were pushed over. The loud crunch and splatter carried clearly over the crowd.